


Leading Example

by tastewithouttalent



Category: ALL OUT!! - Amase Shiori (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Awkwardness, Best Friends, Embarrassment, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Ebumi turns his attention back to the screen. 'It’d be kind of weird to just watch it on my own, anyway.'" Ebumi finally manages to rent a video without being carded, and Ise helps him take advantage of it.





	Leading Example

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ebumi groans as the image on the television in front of him shifts, the camera adjusting to a lower angle that strips away some of the concealing effect of the shadows the first shot maintained. “ _Damn_ that’s hot.”

“Jesus,” Ise breathes from next to him, sounding shocked and breathless as he has for the last half-hour, since they started the video Ebumi finally managed to rent without getting his ID checked. When Ebumi glances over at him the other’s cheeks are flushed dark, his skin suffused with the heat that is parting his lips on the force of his breathing and tensing his fingers to a fist against the edge of the table where their drinks have gone forgotten for the last ten minutes.

“I told you I’d get it eventually,” Ebumi says, grinning with something he intends to be self-assurance and that comes out a little bit shaky with disbelief. “I knew they’d get sloppy about checking my age if I kept trying.”

“You’ll have to return it in a few days,” Ise says without looking away from the video playing across the television screen. The woman in the video is starting to moan, now, her voice skipping into the appearance of arousal; it’s at least partially an act, Ebumi figures, but it’s more than enough to keep his dick painfully hard inside his jeans as it has been for the last twenty minutes. “Won’t you?”

Ebumi shrugs. “Maybe I’ll make a copy of it or something,” he says, even though he doesn’t have the means to do something like that and can’t imagine the stress of having even an unmarked copy of a video like this lying around. He reaches out for the glass of soda in front of him to take an ostentatious swallow from it, even though it does nothing at all to ease the tension in his throat. “Just have to make the most of it while I’ve got it, right? That’s why I invited you over.”

“Yeah,” Ise says. He has his knees drawn up in front of him, his arms wrapped around them; when Ebumi looks sideways at him again he can see the focused weight of Ise’s stare fixed on the television screen and the excess of bare skin displayed upon it. Ise’s throat works when he swallows hard. “Thanks.”

“‘Course,” Ebumi says, turning his attention back to the screen. “It’d be kind of weird to just watch it on my own, anyway.”

They both go quiet for a moment. Ebumi has entirely lost track of whatever strung-together story the movie is offering; it seemed to disintegrate as soon as the woman took her clothes off, and he doesn’t feel the loss of it. This is what he wanted, anyway, the titillating obscenity of the camera angle over the curves of the actress’s body, the damp of the sweat clinging to the weight of her breasts and the dark of her hair swinging forward with every forward thrust the nameless man behind her takes into her body. Ebumi can feel the heat of it like a knot low in his stomach, radiating out through his whole body until he can’t distinguish between self-conscious embarrassment and burning arousal and doesn’t bother making the effort. It’s not like it really makes a difference, not when he has Ise beside him with the flush across his cheeks to speak to his similar arousal even if his drawn-up knees are hiding visible proof of it.

Ebumi turns his attention back to the screen. The man is shifting position, now, pulling out of the woman kneeling in front of him so he can rock back over his heels and reach for her hips to pull her back onto his lap, to thrust up instead of forward into her. She moves willingly enough, without any visible embarrassment at the way the shift in angle turns her whole body up to the illumination of the light overhead; when he starts moving again she takes up her moaning right where it left off, tipping her head back against his shoulder and fluttering her lashes in a way Ebumi thinks is probably part of the act she’s been putting on the whole time. It doesn’t really make a difference; he’s more interested in the slick motion of the man’s body fitting against the woman’s, in the hot slide of his cock sinking into her with each upward flex of his hips. The man’s balls are tense against the base of his cock, drawn up tight in a way that speaks to the endurance required by the scene; Ebumi can feel his own cock twitch at the sight, can feel himself aching with arousal as he watches the two fuck on the screen in front of him. He huffs an exhale and reaches down to adjust himself inside his jeans as best he can with a rock-hard erection; and then the man lifts his hand to grab roughly at the woman’s breast, and Ise beside him makes a faint, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

“Goddamn,” Ebumi groans. “That’s so.”

“Yeah,” Ise says, his voice rough and breaking over the tension in his chest. Ebumi presses his palm against himself, grinding minimal relief against the ache of his arousal; but it doesn’t seem to help, it only winds the strain of want in him tighter.

“Fuck it,” he says finally, and pushes himself back from the table in front of him to sprawl his legs wide under the surface. Ise blinks and turns his head at the motion, his attention sufficiently distracted by the other’s action, but Ebumi doesn’t pause in reaching to unfasten the front of his jeans. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“Oh,” Ise says from alongside him. “Are you--”

“It’ll only take a minute,” Ebumi says, as he pushes his button open and drags the fly of his jeans down. “Don’t mind me.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Ise says again, sounding hot and startled; but Ebumi has his jeans open, and he’s shoving at the soft of his boxers, and then he’s closing his hand around himself and groaning with the relief of it, with the immediate satisfaction of friction against heat-sensitive skin. His head goes back, his thoughts go blank; for a moment he’s not thinking about the video playing at all, as all his self-consciousness entirely evaporates to the whole-body tremor of satisfaction as he jerks up over the heat of his cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ebumi groans, feeling the sound spill from his throat like it’s a vocalization for the shudder of heat running through him; and then he starts to move, fast, jerking up over himself with the rough, hasty pace he usually sets when he’s in bed late at night. Sometimes he’ll take his time with himself to draw the experience long and savoring; but right now everything in him is tense with want, and impatience is winning out over the appreciation he knows he ought to take. “Christ, that feels good.”

“Shit,” Ise says, the word soft and hissing past his teeth; when Ebumi tips his head to look at the other Ise has his hand down at his hips too, his knees angled very slightly out to allow space for his grip to work. His head is ducked forward, his forehead bracing against the dark of his jeans over his knees; Ebumi can see the shadow of Ise’s lashes fluttering shut over his eyes, can see the part of the other’s lips as he pants for air. His clothes are cast into shadow, it’s hard to see what exactly he’s doing with his hand; but the flex of his shoulder has taken on a telltale rhythm that says he’s following Ebumi’s example without any hesitation.

Ebumi huffs a laugh, hears it go hot and breathless even as he sets it free. “Right?” He spreads his legs a little wider, settles himself back against the brace of his hand behind himself. “Get comfortable, man, you don’t need to tie yourself into a knot. I’d be more embarrassed if I didn’t pop a boner while watching porn.”

Ise turns his head against his knees, glancing sideways at Ebumi without unfolding from that hunched-shoulder tension he’s adopted. His face is flushed from his hairline to his throat, his lashes are dipping heavy over the hazy weight of his gaze; Ebumi can hear him breathing hard over every inhale he manages. Their eyes meet for a moment, Ise’s flushed gaze matching Ebumi’s grinning amusement; and then Ise’s stare drops, his attention flickering away from Ebumi’s face to the stroke of the other’s hand at his hips instead. Ebumi’s pace stalls, his motion startled out-of-rhythm by the sudden awareness of Ise’s eyes on him; in his hand his cock twitches with sudden heat that hits him like a fist in his stomach. Ise’s lashes flutter, his throat works on a sound Ebumi can’t hear; and he turns his head down again to hide his face in the shadows once more.

Ebumi’s heart is racing. He can’t think clearly; his thought are too dazed with adrenaline, his focus too scattered by too many sources of input. The television is still flickering with motion as the two actors shift to a new position, the woman moaning obediently as the man topples her down over the futon they’ve been kneeling on; but Ebumi’s attention is caught by the hunch of Ise’s shoulders, and the part of his lips, and the almost-pained strain of the other’s breathing as he jerks himself off with guilty haste.

“Hey,” he says, and Ise flinches, curling in closer on himself like he’s trying to dodge Ebumi’s attention, like if he makes himself small enough the other might not realize he’s still here. Ebumi frowns, discomfort winning out over his own arousal, and when he lets himself go it’s so he can reach for Ise’s shoulder, so he can close his hand into the comfort of a grip against the other’s shirt. Ise cringes at the contact, gasps a breath like he’s been shocked, but Ebumi doesn’t let his hold go and doesn’t look away from Ise’s face. “Calm down, man.” Ise shudders an exhale against his knees, his shoulders flex under Ebumi’s hold; but he’s tipping his head sideways, looking through his lashes at Ebumi next to him as he keeps stroking over himself.

Ebumi tries a grin, aiming for the easiest smile he can muster; with his blood running to fire in his veins, he’s not sure how casual it is, but at least he’s trying. “Are you embarrassed? You don’t have to feel guilty, I’m jerking off to it same as you.” Ebumi reaches over with his free hand to catch at the angle of Ise’s knee, to push against the other’s thigh and encourage Ise to relax. “You can unbend a little, I’m not going to freak out or anything.”

Ise takes a shuddering breath, the sound of it dragging hard in his lungs; it sounds almost like a sob, like he’s giving voice to the tension so straining in his shoulders under Ebumi’s hold. But his legs ease, he lets them slide slowly out in front of him, and Ebumi’s nodding as fast as Ise relaxes, humming appreciation as the other’s legs come down.

“See,” he says, as the light falls across Ise’s legs and the dark of his undone jeans. “Better, right?”

“Fuck,” Ise pants. His hand is moving faster, Ebumi can see the short strokes the other is taking over himself; they’re sharp, jerky motions, like Ise can’t relax his shoulder enough to get a truly satisfying pull with his hand. The head of his cock is flushed darker even than the color so staining his cheeks; there’s a droplet of wet clinging to the skin, catching and smearing against his fingers as he moves.

“Relax,” Ebumi urges. “There’s no rush, right?”

Ise grimaces, his jaw tightening so hard Ebumi can see the muscle along it flex under the skin. “I can’t--” he grits out past tight-clenched teeth, and  “ _Ah_ ,” as he speeds his hand faster, as he closes his eyes hard in pursuit of whatever satisfaction is proving so elusive. “ _Fuck_.”

“Hey,” Ebumi says, and again, when Ise doesn’t react: “ _Hey_ ,” before he reaches out to catch his fingers against the other’s wrist. Ise keeps trying to move for a moment, gasping frustration when he finds his action stalled; Ebumi can see the exact moment the other realizes what’s holding his hand in the sudden slack shock that spreads over Ise’s features.

“You’re going too fast,” Ebumi says into the silence that falls while Ise is still staring blank disbelief at him. Ebumi’s heart is racing in his chest, his cock is still aching with heat, but he’s not really thinking about either of those details; he’s staring at Ise, his full attention given over to the dark of the other’s eyes so wide and so close to his own. There are shadows under Ise’s lashes, the marks of sleeplessness or stress, Ebumi’s not sure which. He can’t figure out how he’s never noticed them before. “You’re just going to get frustrated like that.”

Ise presses his lips together and swallows with shaky focus. “I. I’m.”

“You gotta be more patient,” Ebumi says; and then: “Like this” as impulse overrides reason, as reflex guides his hand away from Ise’s wrist and down to the open front of the other’s jeans instead. Ise whimpers shock at the touch of Ebumi’s fingers against his own, snatches his hand away as if the other’s touch has burned him; but Ebumi wasn’t reaching for Ise’s hand in the first place. He’s curling his fingers into a grip instead, fitting his hold close around the line of Ise’s hot-flushed cock; and then he’s pulling up, taking a long, slow stroke of friction, and Ise’s eyelashes flutter, his head ducks forward as he gasps an inhale Ebumi can feel run hot over his mouth.

Ebumi has to swallow twice before he can get moisture back over his tongue. “See what I mean?” he asks, and then he’s ducking his head to follow the focus of Ise’s gaze, to fix his own attention atop the other’s over his hand around Ise’s length. It’s strange to see, totally unlike watching himself jerk off; the angle is different, the visual all wrong, to say nothing of how _different_ Ise feels against him. He feels hotter, like his blood is running warmer than Ebumi has ever noticed flowing through his own veins, and his cock is a little thicker, wider at the base and tapering into a slight curve towards the head. Ise makes a desperate sound as Ebumi strokes over him, his hips flexing to buck up for more, and Ebumi can see another drop of precome collecting at the swollen dark of the other’s cockhead as he strokes.

“It’s better like this,” Ebumi says, a statement more than a question. He swallows again, tries to collect the scattered pieces of his attention back around himself. “You try.”

He means for Ise to replace Ebumi’s hold on him, means to draw his grip back from the other’s cock and leave them both to stroke themselves into the shuddering heat of pleasure. But Ise moves before Ebumi can loosen his grip, rocking up and in like he’s trying to press against the other leaning over him, and then Ise’s fingertips drag against Ebumi’s cock and all Ebumi’s unthought plans evaporate right out of his head.

“ _Oh_ ,” he groans, and his hips jolt forward, his whole body flexing to urge itself in closer towards Ise’s outstretched fingers. “ _Fuck_.”

“Is this okay?” Ise says, but the question is rhetorical, or maybe Ebumi’s reaction is answering it as fast as it’s spoken, because Ise isn’t hesitating in wrapping his fingers around Ebumi’s cock, in drawing up in a stroke rough enough to carry some echo of that too-hard touch he was using on himself. Ebumi ought to protest -- _go slower_ , he ought to say, _be gentle_ \-- but he can feel his whole body straining in for more, and when he opens his mouth what he says instead is “ _Fuck_ yeah,” with the words starting into a groan in his throat. “ _Shit_ , that feels _amazing_.”

“Yeah,” Ise pants, sounding like he’s startled by the realization himself, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Ebumi isn’t sure he does himself. “It does.”

“Good,” Ebumi says: “Don’t stop” and he follows his own advice, bracing his hold tighter at Ise’s shoulder so he can speed the stroke of his hand over the other’s cock. Ise tenses at the increase in friction, whimpering a groan that makes Ebumi think he’s going to lose all coherency; but he keeps moving, keeps jerking up over Ebumi with as much gritted determination as if it’s himself he’s stroking towards the edge of orgasm. Ebumi is gasping for air, panting over each inhale until all he can hear is the sound of his heart hammering in his ears, but Ise is breathing hard too, Ebumi can feel the rush of the other’s inhales against his mouth with every breath he takes. The air between them is going hot, humid with the heat of their skin and sticky with sweat and the catch of wet against their respective palms; and then Ise’s hand twists, his fingers slip up hard against Ebumi’s cock, and Ebumi can feel his whole body tense in a first surge of premonition.

“Oh fuck,” he blurts, lifting his head so he can stare into Ise’s eyes before him. “I’m gonna--” and Ise’s fingers slide up, the weight of the other’s thumb presses against Ebumi’s cock, and Ebumi jerks and comes in a spasm of heat over Ise’s fingers. Ise’s eyes go wide, he whimpers something incoherent at Ebumi’s lips; but Ebumi can’t pay attention to what the other is saying, can’t spare thought for anything at all but the heat surging through him and the desperate motion of his hand over the flushed-hot resistance of Ise’s cock in his hand. He’s panting for air, he feels like he can’t find breath enough to fill the trembling space inside his lungs; but Ise is whimpering, Ebumi can feel the other shaking under his bracing hold at Ise’s shoulder, and he’s not enough of a jerk to stop just because he’s already come.

“Like that,” he says, and his voice is shaking itself apart but Ebumi doesn’t care, he isn’t paying attention to how he sounds any more than Ise is. When he blinks his vision back into focus he can see Ise in front of him, his head ducked forward and his jaw set with enough strain that he looks almost pained, like chasing down his orgasm is a process of suffering instead of the relief it should be. It makes Ebumi huff an exhale, brings him tipping in closer; when his forehead bumps Ise’s he can hear the gasp the other takes, the near-pain of tension audible in the effort in his throat.

“It’s okay,” he gasps. “It’s okay, I’ve got you”; and then, as Ise trembles through an inhale, Ebumi lifts his chin, and turns his head, and presses his mouth hard against the gasp of air at Ise’s. There’s a moment of stillness, a heartbeat when neither of them are moving but for the weight of their lips against each other; and then Ise shudders through the whole of his body, all the tension in him giving way in a single convulsive motion, and Ebumi can feel the other’s cock jerk under his grip, can feel Ise’s hips buck up in the reflexive motion of orgasm. Ise’s hand comes up, his fingers clutch at Ebumi’s sleeve, and Ebumi stays where he is, stroking Ise through the waves of the other’s orgasm while he catches the sound of Ise’s moans over his tongue.

Ebumi hadn’t intended to linger. He hadn’t intended to do much of anything; the kiss was a reflex, an attempt to ease the strain so painfully taunt in Ise’s body to smooth the other into the relief of physical pleasure. But he stays where he is, even after the last of the aftershocks have passed through Ise’s shoulders, even after Ise has unwound his sticky fingers from around Ebumi’s softening cock, and when Ebumi eases his own grip it’s only so he can brace his hand against the back of Ise’s neck to hold the other still against the weight of his mouth. Ise’s fingers tighten at Ebumi’s sleeve, Ise’s lips shift against Ebumi’s mouth, and when Ebumi leans in Ise lets himself be pushed backwards to fall across the floor, where Ebumi can lean in over him and explore the soft of the other’s mouth at his leisure.

The video is still playing, the sounds of put-upon pleasure still spilling from the television to fill the room; but all Ebumi can hear is the soft sincerity of the half-voiced sounds on Ise’s tongue against his own.


End file.
